Jake Dillinger's Christmas Party Extravaganza!
by averagetoaster
Summary: Jeremy and Michael decide to become a part of the holiday cheer and go to Jake's annual Christmas rager. Nothing says 'the birth of our lord and savior' like chugging jungle juice and grinding to trap remixes of classic Christmas carols.
1. Chapter 1: Sweaters and Soirees

"Are you ready to fucking **rage**?" A clear voice rings out across the suburban neighborhood, a rather expensive speaker amplifying it loud enough to be heard from the next block over. In response a flock of joyous shouts arise, their individual voices indecipherable among the crowd but their approval clear as day. The first voice, that of a young teenager, blasts once again with an air of absolute exhilaration.

"Get ready to jingle bell ROCK ON!"

A short distance away, two teenagers soldier towards the noise, each wearing a slight look of apprehension on their face.

"Michael, are you sure this is a good idea?" The taller of the two boys, wearing a blue and white sweater covered in tiny menorahs, crosses his arms and shudders against the cold. Maybe he should've brought a jacket. He glances over at his friend, who seems completely oblivious to the temperature, and is casually gazing at the displays of Christmas lights and decorations on the surrounding houses. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, a flurry of snowflakes spill down from a tree branch a few feet above their heads, dusting the teen's shoulders with a thin powder of flakes. Fuck.

"Hey, the flyer said anyone and everyone is invited." The other boy, wearing a few layers of various thickness, strides a few paces ahead of his friend. He pulls off his headphones and unzips his outermost coat, his fervent excitement heating him to a degree of discomfort. Underneath it is a bright red sweater, boldly emblazoned with an image of Darth Vader's mask and the words "Merry Sithmas" below it.

The taller teen rubs his arms, trying to stave off the cold. "What sort of idiot makes a flyer for a party? That's just asking for the police to show up and chase us all down. I mean, as much as I want to get drunk with girls our age, I don't need my parents finding out about it because I'm a slow runner."

"Yeah, but it says the address is on Bluebird Lane, which is nearly an hour away. Come on, Jer, it'll be fuuuuuun." Michael turns to face his friend and walks backwards, hoping he won't bail after coming all this way. They already hitched a ride to reach the neighborhood of the party, and were planning on doing the same to get back to their respective houses. The pair can't just show up and immediately ask someone for a ride home without looking like total dweebs. After a few more steps, the shorter teen stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet. He catches himself, then goes back to walking normally. Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, he uses the other to wave the flyer back towards Jeremy.

The flyer is flashy to the point where it's impossible to miss. Bold, blocky letters spell out "Jake's Holiday Extravaganza" in neon blue, all outlined in multi-colored vectors of Christmas lights. Below that details the basic where and when of the party, along with a few notes in small text near the bottom of the flyer. Neon yellow stars border the page, and a small image of Jesus with abs is displayed in the upper right corner. It all looks like it was put together in a Word document in fifteen minutes, and that just adds to its charm. Michael had found it pinned to the board of community events at a local pizza place, but he had seen other copies in various places around town, ranging from the public library to on the sides of electrical boxes in nearby neighborhoods. Although the address is fake, it wasn't difficult in the slightest for the two to find the party. Information about the party began circling along with the usual gossip early in the previous week at the teenagers' high school.

But even Jeremy has to give the fake address idea some credit. The police have busted Jake's holiday get-togethers multiple times, despite the fact that each party has been held at a different location. This has just lead to Jake being craftier in hiding the affairs, since the cops don't actually dish out any punishments to, as they put it, 'kids just trying to have some fun.' They mostly just dish out lectures, make a few calls to parents, and call it a night. It's a sort of weird paradox where the pigs will do whatever it takes to barge in on the illegal activity, but won't lift a finger to try and prevent it in the future. Well, as long as Jeremy can get wasted on drugstore-quality vodka, he doesn't care.

"So you're sure we'll get in?" The two teens aren't exactly known for being popular, or athletic, or even likeable in the slightest to those that don't know them. They aren't purposefully malevolent towards anyone in particular, but they just seem a bit shut off from the rest of the school due to their lack of social skills. The taller teen is sure that if it were up to Jake's crew, his appearance would most likely be greeted with a 'Who are you?' or an even more frank 'Go away.'

Michael isn't bothered in the slightest. "What are they gonna do, check if we're on a guest list? From all the yelling, it sounds like half of our school is there already. The flyer says we only need an ugly sweater for entrance, anyways. We'll be fine!"

"So you went with your Star Wars sweater? I thought you wore that last week at school, you know? And I know you practically have a stockpile of weird sweaters," Jeremy says, gazing out in front of him. The pair are only a minute's walk from the house by now, and the noise is growing louder by the second. They might have to start shouting just to hear each other.

"Well, I wanted to wear my 'Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho' sweatshirt, but I thought it would give off school shooter vibes, and I'm not about that life." Michael simply shrugs and continues walking.

"Good choice. I mean, even in context, it's kinda…" Jeremy searches for the right word, but can't think of anything that won't sound rude or dismissive.

The shorter teen crosses his arms and fakes a pout. "Hey, that movie is a classic! And it's perfect for this time of year. You know, Die Hard takes place on-"

"On Christmas, I know. But that means, like, approximately _nothing_ to me." Jeremy gestures to the menorahs on his sweater.

"Oh, um, right. I kind of forgot for a second-" Michael desperately backpedals.

"Dude, we just had latkes fifteen minutes ago," The taller teen says.

"But those are just like hashbrowns! They just remind me of breakfast." They aren't really like hash browns aside from the inclusion of potatoes, but the teen doesn't want to sound like an insensitive dick. In his mind, he's probably just making things worse. "Well- I mean-"

"Breakfast… at 10PM?" Jeremy raises an eyebrow, the amusement apparent on his face. It really isn't a big deal to him whether or not Michael talks about Christmas, but Jeremy just isn't able to relate. Even if they do visit each other's houses over each year's holiday season to partake in their various holiday traditions, it's still foreign to him. And, to Jeremy, that's fine. He mostly participates in the Christmas festivities for the gifts and food, not to mention spending time with his best friend. Although, he really could never wrap his head around the whole fat red magical guy breaking and entering into kid's houses every year…

"Breakfast food is like, supreme munchie fuel. And McDonalds has a 24 hour breakfast menu, so…" Michael can't find the words to finish his thought, so instead he makes a vague hand gesture that ends up looking like a walrus signaling for help.

The taller teen stares at the display before him, unable to keep himself from breaking into a wide grin. After another second of silence Jeremy breaks into a short fit of laughter, which prompts Michael to do the same. They really can't take each other seriously half the time.

The taller teen takes a moment to regain his composure. "So, should we-"

But he's quickly cut off by an announcement from the party's host. "Alright, my holly jolly houseguests! The ugly Christmas sweater contest is about to begin, so anyone who wants to enter should go to the living room for the chance to win a kiss from the girl of your choice! Some restrictions may apply, fellas. We don't have Jessica Alba here, so don't pull that bullshit and ask for her. As for the ladies, expect a similar contest in an hour!"

The shorter teen isn't impressed in the slightest. "Jesus Christ, what is this, the 1960s? What kind of dou-"

"Do you, um, think Christine is gonna be there?" Jeremy squeaks out. This is the third time this week he's mentioned his puppy-dog crush on Christine, and Michael isn't having it. This is supposed to be a night all about getting into drunken teenage adventures, not trying to woo some girl who probably doesn't even like him back. This is seriously going to cut into their boyish shenanigans. Convincing both of their parents to let them stay out so late was hard enough, and Michael certainly doesn't want to spend the night drinking alone, surrounded by strangers hopped up on teenage hormones and rebellion, among other substances.

"Dude, you can't seriously be considering-" Michael begins, but is quickly cut off.

"At least it would be me kissing her and not some jerkwad." Jeremy's voice is laced with hope that can only be found in the likes of a teenager hopped up on hormones and rebellion.

The shorter teen is swift in his rejection. "You don't even have a Christmas sweater, Jer. And we don't know if she's in there."

Jeremy mulls everything over for a second. "Well… you do. Have a sweater, I mean. And I bet it would fit me."

"No," Michael says.

"But- oh, come on, Michael! It'll only be for a few minu-" Jeremy lightly punches Michael on the arm, in jest. It mostly comes off as awkward and forced.

" _No_ ," Michael says, with slightly more force.

There's a noticeable twinkle in Jeremy's eyes. "I swear I won't do anything to it, and I-"

"Hey, you two!" A deep voice booms from up ahead. Oh. The pair have already reached the house. Their bickering must've distracted them. Standing in front of the door to Jake Dillinger's house is a rather frazzled looking 'bouncer' of sorts. He's wearing shades, probably in an attempt to look tough, but since it's so dark outside they can't be of much assistance in any sense of the word. His hair is wildly messy, and he looks almost too drunk to be standing straight. Doesn't that break bouncer code, or something? The bouncer says something, notices that his voice can't be heard over the noise, and tries speaking again with more volume. "Are you coming in, or what?"

Jeremy gives Michael a hard stare before pulling him through the open door towards a mass of drunk teenagers in surprisingly skimpy outfits, considering the weather. This is the seventh layer of hell, and Michael is far too sober to deal with it. But Jeremy has a look of pure fire in his eyes that Michael has never seen in all his years of knowing him. He looks as if he'd move heaven and earth for the chance to enter a contest where he doesn't even know the prize.

Maybe he'll lose. Maybe Christine isn't even at the party. Both are possible. Probable, even. Jeremy knows this. And yet…

"Ten minutes. That's all I'm asking."


	2. Chapter 2: Wait for It

Summary: Michael makes up his mind, Jeremy is an asshole, and Rich goes ham over a dirty sweater. Don't forget to lock the bathroom door, because this chapter gets pretty steamy!

* * *

Michael mulls it over for a few moments, the ceaseless noise of the party around him making it hard to concentrate.

"Come on, Michael, we don't have time for this," Jeremy shouts over the noise.

The shorter teen speaks quietly, the disappointment apparent in his voice. "You really aren't going to give this up, are you?"

The shorter teen doesn't miss a beat. The sparkle in his eyes rival that of a dozen moe anime girls, all staring at their senpai or some other weeaboo shit. "Not a chance."

Michael pauses, looking around him as if searching for help. Nope, he's still surrounded by drunk teenagers. He can clearly hear a remix of 'I Have A Little Dreidel' playing from upstairs, but with lyrics about throwing one's ass in a circle, much like one would spin a dreidel.

God damn it. Fighting is hopeless; Jeremy's either going to keep bothering him until he gets what he wants, or be pissed off about it for the rest of the night. But maybe that isn't a terrible thing, not completely, at least. Jeremy _has_ been struggling to so much as be in the same vicinity as Christine without completely freaking out, and this might be the push he needs to actually make a move and stop complaining about being single all the time. And, just maybe, this could be the Christmas adventure Michael is looking for. After the contest, whether Jeremy wins- or even more likely- loses, they'll still have enough time left in the night to do whatever they feel like, whether it be making fun of all the oblivious drunk teenagers scattered around the home or taking part themselves in the holiday 'festivities'.

With a short sigh, Michael gives his final answer. "Fine. Ten minutes. But I'm coming with you, just so you don't mess anything up."

Jeremy practically drags Michael to the bathroom, shoving past a sea of girls in thinly knit crop tops, freshmen chugging straight virgin martini mix, and one dude winking and flashing them a thumbs up as they slam the door behind them. Once inside, Jeremy rips off his sweater, nearly falling over in the process. He somehow manages to get his head stuck in one of the sleeves in his haste, and he fumbles around for a moment before finding his way out.

Michael simply removes his winter coat, then a thin fleece jacket, and finally his ugly winter sweater, all without any issues. He folds the first two up, making a mental note to shove them in a coat closet somewhere so he doesn't have to lug them around all night. As for the sweater, he tosses it to Jeremy, who catches it with one hand.

"We _have_ to doctor this sweater, man. What do you have on you?" The shorter teen begins turning the sweater over in his hands, examining every nook and cranny for some sort of inspiration.

Michael worriedly looks over Jeremy's shoulder. "Hey, hey- don't do anything that'll permanently harm it. This sweater happens to be in my top ten favorites, and-"

Jeremy simply waves him off. "Got it, got it. Hand me some tissues, maybe I can make it look like snow, or something."

"And how do you plan to stick it on? I mean, we don't have the time or materials to sew it on, and glue would just get everywhere," Michael says, searching around the bathroom for something he could use as an adhesive. He rummages through a few drawers, finding nothing more than the usual medicines and bandages. The cabinets are messy, and each object looks to have been thrown in without care of its condition. Losing hope, he opens a pair of cabinet doors under the sink, and is shocked to find dozens upon dozens of bottles of different varieties of hair gel. The bottles range in color, size, and amount of product, and seem to be arranged as such. Each bottle is lined up in order with those around it, forming neat lines, in a show almost similar to soldiers in a platoon. Careful not to move any of the bottles, Michael closes the cabinet. As he pulls his hand away, he notices the handle itself was covered in the remnants of half-dried hair gel. Ugh. He wipes his hands on his pants and continues his search.

Jeremy isn't having any luck, either. "Um, is there tape somewhere? Maybe there's an office we can look in, or a study. Or-um, maybe we could try the kitchen. My mom used to keep tape in drawers there, so she could close up any-"

"I don't think we'll be able to get past the sea of inebriated infants, Jer. It'd probably be easier to find an office, or something… You know, we could probably steal some tinsel from around the house to add a bit of pizazz." As much as he hates the subtext of the ugly sweater contest, decorating the sweater might not be so terrible in and of itself. Hey, it might even make for some laughs later on, if they make it look ridiculous enough. Maybe making a giant, tinsel-y dick would be enough for Jeremy to snatch first place.

That just might work. Pretty much all the party is taking place on the first floor, so the upper levels should be completely empty, save for a few shitfaced people trying to sleep, or couples trying something completely unmentionable. "So it's a plan, then? Find an office, steal from our surroundings along the way, and hope for the best?" Jeremy grins, somewhat surprised that Michael is actually going along with his plan.

The shorter teen can't help but smile, as well. "You got it! We might want to get a move on, though. They'll probably be starting the contest soon."

Michael takes Jeremy's sweater and attempts to put it on, but unfortunately it's one size too small for him. With a short huff, he grabs his fleece jacket and unfolds it. It looks like he'll just have to wear that for the time being. He unzips the jacket, preparing to put it on, when the bathroom door bursts open with a loud _crash._

A very drunk girl, with hair shaped to look like a Christmas tree (complete with tinsel and tiny ornaments) stumbles into the bathroom, wearing a look of sloppy seduction.

Behind her is an equally drunk boy wearing a sweater that proudly displays two deer boning in front of a snowy backdrop. Classy.

"You have a condom, right? We can-" The girl stares at the two shirtless teens. One holding a wad of crumpled up tissues. The other covered in some sort of sticky-looking liquid. Both of them looking like a deer caught in headlights. She tilts her head slightly, as if trying to make sense of the situation, then her eyes widen as she comes to a conclusion. "Jeez, lock the door next time."

Oh.

 _Shit._

"We'll just find somewhere else, then. Come on, Chad." The girl giggles loudly, then turns and walks out of the bathroom, dragging a very confused Chad behind her.

After a few moments of silence, Michael speaks, barely above a whisper. "I think I need to launch myself into the sun, now."

Jeremy tries to comfort him, but isn't sure that he can say anything to remedy the situation. "She probably doesn't even go to our school. Um, right? I've never seen her before."

Michael brings a hand up to his forehead, wiping away a thin layer of sweat. "Yeah, and I haven't met every one of the 2,000 people that go to our school either. If she-"

An announcement echoes throughout the house. "Due to a, um, spillage… The sweater contest will be postponed for another fifteen minutes while we sort everything out." Some inaudible whispering is heard over the speakers, before Jake announces, "Someone just blew chunks all over Rich's sweater, okay? Don't… try not to do that. I mean, _do_ try not to do that. There are trash cans, sinks, potted plants, you get the gist. The point is: carpet cleaning is expensive, so-"

Another voice cuts him off. The voice booms with deep-seated hatred that can only be found in gym junkies or Republican politicians at a pride parade. "Brown hair, green hoodie, _I'm coming for you._ If you think you can _fuck_ with me, I'll grab your shitty, dollar-store antlers and shove them _so far up your slimy-"_

After another brief scuffle, Jake's voice comes back on over the speakers. "Ah, um, okay, then! Fifteen minutes, everyone." Then, almost inaudibly, "Jeez, Rich, take a breath…"

Right on cue, a rap version of 'Frosty the Snowman' blasts throughout the house. Jeremy shuts the bathroom door, making sure to lock it. The two put on their respective tops, neither saying so much as a peep. Moments pass.

Jeremy is the one to break the silence. "Look, as much as this fucking sucks, we don't have the time to worry about it. I'll give you time to vent after the contest, okay? Just hold out 'til then."

Still feeling sort of shitty, Michael follows his friend out of the bathroom and up the stairs to the second floor of the house.


	3. Chapter 3: A Deadly Encounter

Summary: Jeremy finds something surprising in the closet, and it isn't Michael this time! Meanwhile, Michael gets caught up in a little more than he bargained for. Will the pair ever find the materials they need to make a sick Christmas sweater, or will Jeremy's dreams of kissing Christine be nothing more than a Nutcracker-esque fantasy?

* * *

The two teenagers scurry through the thin hallways of the house's second floor, searching for an office or any other room that would have something to decorate the sweater. Along the way, Jeremy manages to snag a few feet of tinsel from the stair banister, as well as half a dozen pom-poms hanging at various points on the walls. They make their way across the house, stopping at each doorway to see if they have access to any of the rooms on the floor. Much to the teens' surprise, a majority of the rooms are either locked or in use by various party-goers. With each door they knock on, they're greeted with an 'Occupied!' or a less cheerful 'Fuck off'. After checking on all but two doors throughout the hallway, the pair are losing hope.

Each of the boys takes one door and jiggles the handle, half-expecting them to be locked, as the others had been. Shockingly, both of the doorknobs jiggle, and the teens are able to turn the knob to open the doors.

Jeremy looks down at his wrist to check his watch before remembering that he doesn't own a watch. Either way, they don't have much time left. "Look, we're running out of time. Maybe we should split up."

But the shorter teen would really rather not. "Dude, I'm not trying to die tonight. I swear, as soon as I walk through that door, I'll be murdered by a kid in a mask, or I'll walk in on some cult sacrifice, or something."

"This isn't Scooby Doo, man. That show didn't have kids drinking, or doing drugs off of a germ-infested coffee table." Jeremy turns back to Michael.

"Shaggy."

"Okay, you're right, but that's not what I meant. Also, that joke has been used, what, a thousand times since 1969?" The taller teen mimics a Californian accent, sounding almost exactly like a surfer dude. "'Oh, Shaggy does weed, dude, haha!' Think of something more original."

Michael crosses his arms. "Well, geez, what else is there to that show? The only other subtext is that Fred and Daphne are boning, and Velma is probably a lesbian, and those have _also_ been done to death." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "You know, the gang would probably be a lot better off if they showed off their _talking dog_ instead of, you know, ripping the masks off of old white people to 'solve' mysteries."

"Pffft. Much better. You ready to rooby-rooby-roo this?" He pats Michael on the back, hardly able to keep himself from giggling. At seeing Jeremy failing to hold it together, Michael promptly loses it, breaking into peals of laughter. It's not that the joke was even very funny, if at all, but the two just can't be serious around each other.

After taking a few seconds to recompose himself, Jeremy is finally able to speak. "Okay, but really, we'll only be apart for a minute. Just get in, see if there are any supplies, then get out. You ready?"

Michael looks him straight in the eyes, placing his hands on the other's shoulders. "Let's go, mystery gang."

Each of the boys open their respective door and enter.

Jeremy finds himself in a room with coral-blue walls and posters of various rock bands littering the walls. The twin-size bed is unmade and covered in various food wrappers, and dirty laundry forms a sort of second carpet over the floor. It quickly becomes apparent to Jeremy that the reason nobody had taken this room is due to the almost unbearable smell that surrounds it. It's as if the boy's locker room and a McDonald's restroom had an unholy bastard child in the form of a teenage boy's bedroom. The smell hits him like a truck, nearly knocking him out. Yikes. Does everything in his life have to be so pointlessly difficult? Quickly bringing his shirt collar up to cover his nose, he gets to work.

Jeremy starts off by going to a tiny wooden desk on the opposite side of the room. The desk is covered in a myriad of tiny trinkets, including some (opened) condom wrappers, empty bottles of soda, some drum sticks (the instrument kind, not the food kind), and scattered notes and pens, probably for some sort of school project. He opens the desk drawers, finding nothing more than crumpled up pieces of paper and pure trash. He sifts through a bit, only to find his hand coated in some sort of sticky, black liquid. _Disgusting._ He wipes it off on a nearby ACDC shirt and continues his search.

He then walks over to the room's closet, almost fearful of what he might find inside. Jeremy has half a mind to walk out and never look back, but the thought of kissing Christine is enough to keep him moving forwards. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he throws open the doors of the closet to find… a dead body, laying face-down in the middle of the floor. The corpse appears to be wearing blue jeans and a green bloodstained hoodie, and its body is crumpled up in an awkward position that no human should be able to achieve.

Jeremy falls back, in a state of shock. Is this why the room smells so terrible? Almost numb, he scoots away from the mess and turns his head towards the door. His legs aren't completely cooperating, so he calls out, "Mi- _Michael!"_ as loud as he's able, which is fairly loud.

In the meantime, he may as well try and stomach the whole situation, so he can figure out what exactly to tell police. After a few moments and a few deep breaths, Jeremy shakily walks back over to the closet and looks down at the body.

"Oh, fuck, shit, fuuuuuck god _damn_ it," he sputters before lightly poking the body with his foot. Much to his surprise, the corpse feels rock solid, not slightly squishy like a person should be. He prods the mass again, with slightly more force. It feels almost plastic under his foot. Still shivering, he gets down on his knees to look more closely.

The entire body is made of a cheap plastic, and appears to be some sort of Halloween prop that one would find at a party supply store. The blood is fake, the clothes are fake, the body is all fake.

Oh.

My God.

Jeremy is a fucking idiot.

Meanwhile, Michael finds himself in a room filled with an inky-black darkness to the point where he can't see his hand a few inches in front of his face. He walks along the wall, searching for a light switch, but stops when he hears a sort of rustling sound. It sounds deliberate, piercing, almost as if a small animal got into a stack of papers.

"Um, hello? Is someone there?" He calls out, a bit nervous. The muffled rap music coming from the floor below isn't exactly helping. After a few moments of silence, he takes a breath and continues on his way. It was probably nothing. Maybe it was all just his imagination, or the air conditioning rustled some papers around, or something. The room around him is unbearably cold anyways, almost inhumanly so, but he has to continue for Jeremy's sake. Shivering a bit, he takes another step, nearly tripping over something he isn't able to see. He feels along the wall for a bit, eventually finding what feels to be a pair of lightswitches. He's about to flip one when-

Suddenly, as if triggered by his speaking, a single candle lights up, illuminating a circle of people sitting around it. The beings all have strange horns on their heads, and are muttering quietly amongst themselves.

Yep, Michael definitely stumbled into some cult shit.

He hears a voice call his name. Jeremy. Shit, is he in trouble? Is he _hurt_? Maybe he accidentally stapled his hand, as he's done a few times since the two were kids. Either way, that's his cue to leave.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Michael quietly begins an apology. "I- uh, I didn't know this room was in use. I'lljustgetgoingsorry!"

But just as he turns to leave, the door slams in front of him. One of the beings clad in some sort of black shawl glares down at him, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. Her silky voice cuts through the air like a knife, causing the hair on Michael's neck to stand on end.

"We aren't done with you, yet."


	4. Chapter 4: The Other Reindeer

Summary: In which the B plot rapidly becomes the A plot. Step aside, boys, we have supporting roles to introduce!

* * *

Michael stumbles back, tripping over himself and falling flat on his ass. "Wh- what do you want from me? I- I- I don't mean any trouble!"

The being takes a step towards him, bending down so that it looms over the terrified teen. "Aw, come on, don't you want to play with us?"

"What the hell?" Shit, Michael is going to be kidnapped this weird cult and tied up and tortured like in some sort of fucked up Saw knockoff but like one of the first two Saw movies since they were the best not the shitty later Saw movies and he's getting really off topic but the point is this is **bad.**

"It'll be fuuuun, my little pet." The cloaked figure giggles, giving Michael a creepy, toothy grin. Wait, does this bitch have fangs? Michael scoots away from her as fast as he possibly can, backing up into a wooden desk and slamming the back of his head on a drawer. He winces, bringing a hand up to his head where he bumped it.

One of the voices from the circle pipes up. "Come on, stop fucking with him."

"Wait, no, this is kind of funny," another, deeper voice says.

A third jumps in, sounding light and raspy. "Well, the vibe is ruined anyways. Way to go, Paul."

After taking a second to recompose himself, Michael speaks up. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

The first voice answers him. "She's just messing around, don't pay any attention to her."

The cloaked figure's voice cuts through the noise. "I'm being serious, guys! He might be… the one."

"Wha- um, excuse me?" Michael slowly brings himself to his feet, then goes back to his search for a light switch. After locating it, he flips the switch, revealing four dorkily dressed teens sitting around a Home Goods tea light, each of them wearing a dollar-store pair of reindeer antlers. Well, one of them is wearing deer horns painted to look like... candy corn?

The girl wearing the cloak hisses and shields her eyes. This startles Michael enough for him to tense up and jump ever so slightly, which then prompts laughter from one of the boys in the circle.

The taller of the two boys in the circle gets to his feet. He's wearing a light blue polo and khaki pants, despite it being below freezing outside. "Maybe we should all introduce ourselves. I don't really mind a new addition to the group."

"I mean, I don't exactly have the ti-" Michael tries to slowly tiptoe towards the door, but he's cut off as the boy offers him a handshake.

"My name is Paul. The brains of the group, in case you couldn't already tell." And humble, too. A bit reluctantly, Michael shakes his hand.

The second boy gets to his feet to introduce himself. He's wearing an emerald green hoodie, and his short brown hair is messy. He stumbles as he struggles to stand up, and his movements seem too loose and relaxed for him to be completely sober. "Hey. I'm Barack Hussein Ob-"

"Can you be serious for five goddamn minutes?" Paul glares daggers at the shorter teen, crossing his arms with an air of pure annoyance.

"I'm Jery." The boy plops back down, glowering.

The next person in the circle, a girl wearing the candy cane horns, doesn't even bother to stand up. It might just be the light, but her skin almost looks to be a light shade of grey. "I guess I'm up next, then. I'm Suzie." The girl snickers and licks a piece of chalk she's carrying around, for some reason.

The girl with the cloak practically latches onto Michael. Her long hair is dyed a shade of blood red, and she appears to be wearing a gothic ensemble, complete with a black cloak and a corset. "And me? I'm Rachel, but you can call me Princess Bloodfang. I'm a vampire, born and raised." She smiles, showing off her dollar-store vampire fangs.

"So… you're not a cult?" Michael gently pushes Rachel off of him, relieved that he isn't about to die at the hands of a bunch of dweebs.

"I can be whatever you want me to be, baby." Jery snickers to himself, covering his mouth with one hand.

Paul decides to take the reins. "No, we're not a cult. Our semi-official name is 'the other reindeer.' You know, from the Rudolph song? We see ourselves as deviations from the norm, unwilling to participate in the banalities of the average life. And thusly, we wear these reindeer antlers, to signify to the world that we refuse to bend to their will. This becomes inconvenient around this time of year, but it cannot be helped."

"Wait, but aren't the 'other reindeer' in that song the ones who bully Rudolph?" Michael asks.

Paul goes to cross his arms, then realizes they're already crossed. "Are you insinuating that I don't know the lyrics to a simple child's song?"

"Well, I know it goes 'all of the other reindeer taunted him and called him names,' but I'm not _insinuating_ anything." Michael shoots back, equally annoyed.

"Oooooh Paul, he got you _good!"_ Suzie snorts, then goes back to licking her chalk.

Paul sits cross-legged and re-adjusts the candle. "Fine, fine. We're the island of misfit toys, then. Is that good enough for you? Does that satiate you? Hmmm? Now our antlers are obsolete, and-"

Michael decides to get down to business. The contest is due to start any minute, and he still hasn't checked in with Jeremy, who may or may not have needed his help earlier and been blatantly ignored. "Jesus, I just came in here to see if you have any tape."

"I- I can help you find some!" Rachel's eyes light up with excitement.

Michael isn't going to touch that with a thirty nine and a half foot pole. She just seems too unstable to offer any real help. "I should really get going…"

Rachel clutches onto his arm again, with more force. " _ **No!**_ No! You should just, um, relax for a while. Stay here. There's room."

This is going to go nowhere fast. He has to be firm, yet gentle enough that she won't go psycho on him or try to suck his blood or something. He just has to let her down _gently._ By changing the subject, or giving an excuse. That might work. "Rachel, I know you're trying to hit on me, and I'm flattered, but I don't, um, I'm not-" But Michael can't tell a complete stranger something so _personal_ to him, not even if it might get her to leave him alone.

"Jesus, dude. You're just like my older brother. Hopefully not as much of a weeaboo, though. Sit down." Jery pats the space next to him as an invitation to sit. On any other day, Michael would be completely fine with chilling with a group of quiet strangers at a party, but right now he has a job to do, and not nearly enough time to do it.

He places one hand on the doorknob. "Sorry, I-"

But Paul cuts him off without skipping a beat. "Look, we couldn't even let you go now if we wanted to. You're in too deep now that you know our true identities. That, and we're about to initiate _the Plan."_ Rachel wastes no time in leaning over and pressing the door closed.

This can't be good.

After taking a few moments to calm down, Jeremy gets back to business. He has, what, ten minutes before the ugly sweater competition begins? There's no time for him to beat himself up over his stupidity. Searching around the room, he grabs whatever looks like it could be of use. Tape, a few CDs, a framed picture of Snoop Dog (for some reason), and a few other small trinkets. He spends a hot minute messily throwing everything onto his sweater and securing it with tape, causing the sweater to look like a toddler in a craft store assembled it.

Just as he's putting the finishing touches on his sweater, Jake's voice blasts through the floor. "All right all right all right everyone! Our previous situation has been sorted out, so the contest will begin in… two minutes! Get down to the living room to enter! Rock on, my little snowmen." Then, a bit quieter, "Did that last part even make sens- Oh, shit. Cut the mic."

A brief scuffle is heard before the voice of Rich blasts over the speaker system once again. "To the punk who fucked up my sweater and ran away like a pussy, I'm going to find you. I have eye-witnesses who know what you look like, and they say you came in a white sedan. If you don't want your tires slashed, you better face the fuck off."

Another scuffle. Jake is back. "Hey, hey, hey! Good vibes only, everyone! Keep partying hard and, um, watch where you spew. We have virgin eggnog and sparkling cider for all those who don't want to be super hungover tomorrow, so go to the kitchen for more information on that!"

"And seriously, carpets are expensive to clean. Keep that in mind." A different voice, a bit deeper than the others, cuts in. Is that Jason Findelman, from Jeremy's history class? Is this his house? That explains a lot. Jason was always a bit of a slob, even if he knew how to throw a rad party. In class, he had often shown up with his clothes covered in various, unidentifiable stains and a smell that made Jeremy think he had never showered in his entire life. He sure as hell knew how to get lit, though.

But now, back to business. Jeremy quickly tapes another CD to his sweater and heads out of Jason's bedroom. He knocks on the door Michael disappeared into, giving a quick "I'll be in the living room, see ya in a bit" before heading downstairs. Michael sure is taking a long time in there, and Jeremy wonders what he could've possibly found that's keeping him preoccupied for so long. Maybe a gang of teens were in there smoking, and Michael decided to join in and forgot entirely about the sweater contest. This wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened. But as long as Michael isn't pissed off at him, Jeremy is okay with it.

The teen makes his way to the living room. A crowd is forming around one side of the room, where the participants are all lined up. Jeremy quickly realizes that his sweater is vastly inferior to those of the majority of competition participants. Most of the sweater-wearers look as if they spent an hour minimum decorating their sweater beforehand, with the best of the bunch including mini light-displays and intricate tinsel designs. One of them even has a light display that blinks and flickers in time to the music booming throughout the house.

Jeremy is absolutely boned.

There's no way he can win this.

He takes a few steps backwards, trying to fade into the crowd. Unfortunately, before he can, a hand grasps his arm and pulls him onto a makeshift stage made out of a few dining tables pushed together.

"Aaaaand we have a late entry. A superstar challenger!" Jake shouts into the microphone, the crowd responding with drunken, thunderous applause. Jake slaps him on the back, guiding him to line up with the other sweatered men. A few of them look him over, some of them turning to each other and snickering quietly.

"Now if everyone is ready to begin, how about we all go around and say our names and our favorite Christmas movie. Or Eight Crazy Nights, if you're Jewish. There aren't really any good Hanukah movies, are there? Any future directors in our audience, get on that shit!" A few stray cheers rise up from the crowd.

Jake continues with his speech. "Okay, let's go down the line! Rich, you want to start us off?"

A muscular blonde boy in a lime green sweater with no sleeves takes the mic. The sweater has some sort of weird design on it with a floating eye and text, but from his current angle Jeremy can't quite make out what it says. "Rich Goranski. Home Alone. I better get extra points for what happened to my swea-"

Jake cuts him off. "Moooooving on! And up next…"

The microphone continues down the line, slowly approaching Jeremy. Sweating a bit, he desperately tries to tidy up some of the ornaments on his sweater. Shit, he doesn't even know any Christmas movies, and he outright _refuses_ to claim Eight Crazy Nights as his favorite. A pompom pops off of his right sleeve.

This is bad.


	5. Chapter 5: Plans and Party Games

Summary: Michael discovers a plan that may just put an end to the party, and Jeremy focuses on not getting himself disqualified from the competition.

* * *

"The Plan," Paul begins, "is a five step process that will allow the 'Other Reindeer' to take back the party for ourselves."

"Take back the party?" Michael echoes, thoroughly confused.

Paul smirks like a shitty anime villain. "Precisely. I've never understood the hedonistic tendencies of the popular students whenever they have a night sans parental units."

Jery cuts in. He's lying on the floor, both of his feet resting on top of a nearby storage box. "Dude, you just don't know how to get lit. Also, stop taking like a fucking Knight of the Round Table."

"I know very well how to enjoy the pleasures of life, I just choose not to. And my speaking is perfectly normal for those with high intelligence." Like a jackass, the teen stands over Jery, his hands on his hips.

But Jery isn't intimidated in the slightest. "Jesus Christ. Get laid. Not even, like, physically. I mean in your mind. You cognitively need to get laid."

Paul's face flushes a bright shade of red, and he crosses his arms. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to tell me how to live my life, Jery. Now, back to the Plan." Paul pulls out a notebook from seemingly nowhere and flips to a page somewhere in the middle. Notes are neatly printed, along with a few labeled diagrams.

"Basically, we're going to create several diversions around the house while one of us cuts the electricity and another will find a way to get rid of a majority of the alcohol here. Of course, I'll be disposing of the alcohol. Rachel will take the electricity, since Jery is too drunk and Suzie isn't willing."

"I don't want to get shocked, so I'll be distracting people. Jery is also supposed to, but he's kinda fucked up right now." Suzie says, fiddling with her horns. Michael is about to ask what those are all about when Jery cuts him off.

"Hey, we could also get rid of the booze by getting wasteeeeed." Jery raises one hand in the air. He's holding a flask that's shaped like one of those squeaky rubber chickens.

Michael isn't convinced this will work. Mostly because the team seems too incompetent to function as one unit. "Are you sure you have the coordination for all this?"

"Positive. Everything has gone according to Plan so far. Nothing can stop us," Paul says.

Yikes. This might get in the way of Jeremy's sweater contest. Sure, he doesn't have much of a chance of winning, but ruining the entire party wouldn't be a good way to end the night. "Well, I kind of need the party to carry on normally for the next half-hour or so, so…"

Paul's eyes darken. "If you're thinking about informing anyone of our Plan, you will deeply regret it."

"What do you mean by that?" Surely Paul isn't thinking of fighting him, right? He looks to scrawny to put up much of a fight, anyway.

"I have my ways of making sure nobody does anything traitorous," He says, with the confidence of a Reddit-user talking about a culture they aren't a part of.

Suzie jumps in. "He's gonna tell Jake you puked on the rug to get you thrown out. That's all." She snickers and puts a small bucket over one of her horns. Where did she even get that from?

Rachel cries out, squeezing the hell out of Michael's arm. "No, no, no! You can't threaten my little Mikey!" She sniffles, trying to induce Ghibli-esque tears.

"Don't call me that," Michael says, thoroughly unimpressed.

But Rachel continues on as if she never heard him. "He would never do anything naughty, unless it's with me~!"

"H3h3h3h3h3h3! Is this a new OTP I'm smelling?" Suzie giggles covering her mouth with her hands. "You can't tell from my speaking, but the 'e''s in my laughter are 3's."

Michael ignores Suzie. "Seriously, don't talk to me like that. I don't even know you." He pushes Rachel away, frowning.

"Not yet, maybe, but soon!" She says, a glimmer in her eyes. Michael then realizes that she's wearing contacts that make her eyes look entirely white. Jesus. "Maybe you should come with me to disable the electricity! Then after we're done, I can initiate you!"

That sounds honestly fucking terrible, but it might allow Michael to prevent her from wrecking the party. Maybe if he promises to hold her hand or something, she'll decide not to kill the lights. "Fine. Sure. Just tell me what I need to do."

Jeremy gulps as the microphone grows closer and closer to his spot in line.

Within seconds, the microphone reaches the person before Jeremy; a muscular teen wearing nothing but a Santa hat and jean shorts. He grabs the microphone, his eyes wide with excitement. "I'm Robert Price and my fav-"

But Jake grabs the microphone before he can finish. "Aaaaand the _one_ requirement for entering was that you had to wear a sweater. I'm not even sure how you got this far, to be honest. Who let him up here? Just step off the stage, please. Thaaaank you. Moving on…"

Jake holds the microphone out to Jeremy. Trembling slightly, he takes it, surveying the crowd. A majority of the people watching are from Jeremy's high school, so any slip up with undoubtedly spread like wildfire throughout the school once they all go back.

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy says, "I'm Jeremy Heere, and, um, my favorite Christmas movie is… 'Die Hard'?"

A few people in the crowd cheer. Thank God Michael decided to geek out on him earlier.

Jake takes the microphone back. "Good choice! Up next…"

The rest of the boys introduce themselves without a hitch. Most of them give 'Home Alone' as their favorite Christmas movie, with a few choosing 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' and one choosing 'The Santa Clause.'

"Now that introductions are out of the way, we can move on to the first challenge. Oh, for those who came in late, I'm Jake Dillinger, by the way. 'Elf' is my favorite movie. But back to the contest. Bring 'em in, Jason!"

Jason emerges from stage right with a bunch of small red and green boxes, with numbers printed on each side. In total, there are about twenty, one for each participant. The boxes are pooled on a table in the center of the stage.

Jake turns to the line of teens, explaining the rules. "I hope you boys are ready for a bit of Russian roulette. Now, nobody is going to die tonight—this isn't that kind of story—but you all will be drinking a mystery liquid contained in whichever box you end up with. There's nothing poisonous or inhumane, but it may not exactly be pleasant, either."

Rich calls out, raising his hand to get Jake's attention. "So, like, we're not going to end up with period blood or anything, right?"

"Jesus, dude, I'm not a monster. I can't guarantee that you'll love whatever you end up with, but I'm not trying to ruin your life, here. Now, onto the rules of this game." Jake walks to downstage center, the lights dimming around him until only the stage is lit. "This is going to be kind of like a white elephant swap. We'll start with on the leftmost side of the line, by which I mean stage right, and that person will have to take a gift from the pile and open it. After him, the next person will have the choice to either steal a previous player's gift, or take one from the pool to open. This continues until the end of the line. If a player's gift is stolen, they can either take a new one from the pool or steal a gift, but they cannot take back what was just stolen from them. At the end of the game, everybody will take their drink. If you refuse or spit it out, you're out of the contest."

This has the potential to be pretty bad, but Jeremy is sure he can stomach whatever he ends up with.

Jake dramatically spins around, pointing to the first person in line. "Now, Rich, you're up first! Choose a box and open it up."

The blonde teen walks up to the table, and after some deliberation, chooses box #7. He heads back to his place in line and opens it, revealing a shotglass full of some sort of strange, yellowish cloudy liquid. The glass has plastic wrap covering the top, along with a rubber band, to prevent it from spilling.

"What even is this? It smells disgusting." He lifts the plastic wrap and takes a whiff of the liquid, nearly gagging from the smell.

With a mischievous grin, Jake deflects the question. "That would ruin the fun, wouldn't it? You'll just have to find out once the game is over."

The next few boxes opened contain something that looks like tomato juice, something with the smell of vinegar, what appears to be pure maple syrup, and a strange, thick black liquid. So far, nobody wants to steal anything.

Maybe this isn't going to be as easy as Jeremy thought.


End file.
